


Over Sear and Ash

by esteefee



Series: Omada [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Canon Character of Color, Community: satedan_grabass, Gen, Male Friendship, Sateda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:01:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/esteefee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronon returns to find Sateda wasn't destroyed, but there's no going back in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Over Sear and Ash

**Author's Note:**

> Recipient: [mistokath13](http://mistokath13.livejournal.com), for the [Satedan Grabass Thing-a-Thon](http://satedan_grabass.livejournal.com)!
> 
> Prompts used: stranded someplace strange (sorta :) + what if Sateda hadn't been destroyed?
> 
> Betas: that_which and abrokencompass — many thanks! And for the rapid turnaround, you guys.

* * *

They kept two soldiers on him, but Ronon figured it was for show—they looked untried and could easily be overcome, even in his weakened state. Their military leader, Sheppard, showed him the City of the Ancestors before giving him sleeping quarters. Sheppard said tomorrow they'd dial Sateda for him. Ronon didn't quite believe him, but the chance of seeing home again was almost enough to make Ronon weep weary tears. 

He was so tired.

Something about these people tempted him to trust. At the same time, Ronon found it hard to believe anyone could be that generous. They'd removed the tracker from his back, they'd fed him, they'd provided shelter and shown him their home—surely it was a trick? Yet there was something about Sheppard's smile, his easy bearing, that led Ronon to want to believe otherwise, and when the door slid shut behind him, Ronon found himself relaxing almost against his will.

For the first time in seven years, he slept in a bed, the sound of an ocean in his ears, and didn't run.

:::

When morning came it was Sheppard again who came knocking, this time to lead him down the corridor to morning meal. There was meat and eggs and dark, spicy tea. The Athosian soldier, Teyla Emmagan, was there, her smile bright and welcoming. 

"Did you rest well?"

Ronon nodded, too busy eating—fresh food! So plentiful, the tea bitter and bracing. If this was an elaborate trick, he was enjoying the trappings. 

Sheppard gave a brief laugh at his sound of enjoyment, and Ronon met his grinning eyes. He could find no sign of deception there, no ruse. He saw none of the usual telltales—no twitching of eyes looking down and to the side, hand under the table, shoulders high and ready.

Ronon went for another tray of food, and the server shook his head and gave him double the eggs and toasted bread.

:::

Later, Sheppard came to his temporary quarters. "So, we dialed the address you gave us."

Ronon was afraid to know, to find out if all his dark nightmares were true—that Sateda had fallen, and he had no home to return to. But he had never been a coward.

Sheppard went on, "Looks like they've got pretty tight security, which is good. And the head of security there said he knew you." 

"He knows me." It could be another trick.

"Yeah." Sheppard nodded. "Anyway, we were wondering if maybe Teyla and I can come along, have you introduce us to your people for trade? Since this guy knows you, and you know us...?" Sheppard gave a lopsided smile. "Either way, it's time for you to go home, buddy."

 _Home._ "Sure, come if you want."

"Cool." Sheppard led the way down the hall and to a console with a screen, and a familiar face flickered on it.

"Solen." Ronon couldn't stop the grin that overtook his face. "Solen Sincha."

"Ronon Dex. You really are alive. I thought these people were lying." Solen was smiling, but there was something strained about it. Probably because of the strangers surrounding Ronon in a tight circle. 

"It's me. I'm coming home. These people helped me; they want to open contact with us." Us. He was an 'us' again. After seven years. Ronon's hands were shaking, and he fisted them tightly under his arms to hide it.

"Come through then, Ronon, and bring a few of your friends, but only a few. We're wary of strangers these days."

Ronon nodded. "This is Colonel Sheppard. He and his second, Teyla Emmagan of Athos, will come."

Solen marked his agreement the Satedan way, palming his chest, and Ronon returned it. Then the technician did something, and the image disappeared.

"When can we go?" The Ring was still active. "Now?"

"Sure. Teyla and I will just gear up."

It was as simple as that. Ronon waited impatiently down by the Ring while Sheppard spoke with his leader, then Teyla joined Ronon with her weapons, which were close enough to Satedan weapons to make no difference. Sheppard jogged up soon afterward, and in his hand was Ronon's blaster, which he handed over with a grin.

"Kind of wish I didn't have to give this back," he said, and Ronon bared his teeth and strapped it on.

Together they stepped through, Ronon in front.

:::

Ronon's eyes were closed as he took his first breath of Satedan air in seven years. He filled his lungs slowly, then jerked them open when he heard Teyla Emmagan's sharp breath and the shifting of her weapon.

"Well, hello there," Sheppard said.

Facing them were Solen Sincha and more than a handful of elite guardians in full battle dress, triguns aimed directly at them.

Ronon fingered the butt of his blaster. "Not very welcoming, Solen," he said.

Solen didn't look a bit guilty. "You've been gone a long time, Ronon, and in the hands of the Wraith. We've had worshipers come back before, bent on treachery."

"I'm no worshiper." The insult made his blood pound. "Say that to me without a weapon in your hand."

"And who are these 'friends' who send strange machines that talk through the gate? You understand if we show caution." Solen gave the signal, and five guardians came over to relieve them of their weapons. Sheppard and Teyla both looked to Ronon for their cue, and he jerked his head. As yet, he thought Solen was just overeager to prove himself as Chief Guardian. As soon as Ronon could tell his story, Solen would be more reasonable.

If not, by his honor, Ronon would break free and return these two to their people, or die trying.

:::

"Well, this is just super," Sheppard said, pacing the width of their cell and then back again. Since Ronon was pacing lengthwise, they occasionally had to dodge around each other. Teyla sat cross-legged in the corner and eyed them both with calm exasperation.

"Super?"

"It's awesome."

"He means he is unhappy."

"And you think I'm glad about this? The stockade at High Command wasn't the home I dreamed about when I was on the run for seven years," Ronon said. 

"Sorry," Sheppard said, stopping in his tracks and turning to look toward the wall. "Cruddy homecoming."

"Not your fault."

Sheppard grunted. After a pause, he said intensely, "Listen. We need to keep it quiet about Atlantis surviving the last Wraith attack, okay? Just say we live in a compound or something."

"All right."

"It's not that we don't trust your people, but seeing how this is going..." Sheppard turned and gave him a shrug.

"Yeah."

Ronon started pacing again. Ten passes or so later, a guardian came and took him away.

:::

The last thing Ronon was expecting was another familiar face, but Alef Torrel, once his regiment commander but now with three tabs on his shoulder, was seated next to Solen behind the inspector's table. With them was a woman ranked as seren. She was probably the base commander. 

"Dex, this is Seren Reki," Torrel said. 

"Specialist Dex," Ronon said, barely keeping his tone respectful. But he'd been squad leader, and it dishonored the fallen to drop his rank without explanation. 

Torrel nodded slowly. "Specialist. Where have you been for seven years?"

"Running." Pushing back his hair, Ronon said, "The Wraith like to play a little game. Don't know why. For training maybe, or to see how we react, how we survive. They put a tracking device in my back and set me loose. Then they hunted me. For seven years I've been hunted, and hunted them back. Until now."

Ronon heard Solen take a slow breath. "I have heard tales. Stories about a runner seven feet tall."

"They exaggerated."

"They said he killed a hundred Wraith."

"That part probably wasn't an exaggeration." Ronon smiled grimly.

"You're not wearing this tracking device now?" This from the seren, and Ronon gave her a look.

"Would he come home if he were wearing it?" Solen said, and finally, finally Ronon heard the warmth of a friend, the support of a comrade. 

"Never, on my honor. For seven years I waited, running for my life," Ronon said furiously. "The Lanteans, the people I came with, their med tech finally removed the device."

Solen's eyes dropped, and Torrel rubbed his mouth. Even Seren Reki looked abashed.

"I still need to confirm," Reki said.

Ronon still burned, but he removed his shirt and turned his back. He heard her stand, felt her fingers tugging on the dressings then pushing next to the stitches, tracing the old scars. 

"You tried to remove it yourself?"

"Yeah. And another doctor, but he couldn't. These Lanteans have amazing technology. They found it fast and got it out and killed the signal. I...passed out. But they didn't hurt me. They took me to their home, took care of me and brought me here. They're good people." Ronon's fury rose again. They were good people, and he had led Teyla and Sheppard into a cell. 

Reki pressed the dressing back on and handed him his shirt.

The courtesy implied permission. Ronon turned around and faced the table. "Why am I being held a prisoner by my own people?" 

Solen exchanged a look with Torrel before speaking. "You are not the first from our regiment to return. You remember Tyre, Rakai and Ara?"

Ronon's heart leapt. "They're alive?"

Grimacing, Solen said, "They were. Until we discovered they were infiltrators, worshipers working for their Wraith masters."

"No. Never. Tyre? Ara? I can't believe it of them—"

"Yes." Torrel's voice was implacable. "They proved their treachery by sabotaging the shield we'd been using to protect the city. We have since repaired it." But a flicker on Solen's face showed that to be a lie, or at least only a partial truth.

So. Ronon's friends were dead. Wraith worshipers. A lie as well? But the pain on Solen's face was too believable. The fact he'd told the tale himself, in spite of being outranked, also lent to the truth. 

And Satbar had a defense, a shield of some kind, but it was damaged. They'd had no such shield when Ronon was captured, his entire squad slaughtered—

"Kell," Ronon said. "He—how is it Sateda survived, when the traitor Kell diverted our regiments—"

"Ah," Reki said, sounding intrigued. "You knew of Kell's treachery?"

"He was responsible for the death of my squad." Ronon's voice was hoarse. 

"We discovered his doings in time to reroute the rest of the regiments in our defense. Kell was executed after the Wraith withdrew to regroup. Due to the bombings, a great cavern was opened where we discovered the site of the Ancestors and the shield that was to be our salvation."

Ronon considered this. The Lanteans knew much about the Ancestors' technology. Perhaps they could help repair the shield, if they weren't too angry about being held captive. Ronon would speak to Solen privately.

"The people I brought are not spies. They aided me. Teyla Emmagan is a well-known trader. Colonel Sheppard is a seren of his own base command."

"Yes, yes, all right." Torrel looked much more relaxed. "Go with Solen and take them back to the Ring. You think they wish to trade with us?"

"I think it's more likely they wish an alliance." Ronon thought about what he might reveal to tempt Torrel. "They have technology. Power, communications. Who knows?"

Torrel nodded and closed his eyes momentarily. "We'll consider it. Perhaps, since you already have an association, we'll make you Liaison."

Ronon pulled back, startled. "But my Service—"

Solen broke in, "You've been gone a long time, Ronon. Your contract expired while you were missing. Elek na Pharkin is ranking Specialist of your omada now."

A cold knot burned in Ronon's chest, rising toward his throat. Torrel could renew Ronon's contract easily, but one look in his gray eyes revealed nothing.

Ronon's squad was dead, along with Tyre, Ara and Rakai. He had no omada. And Melena— "Then I have no home. I've returned to nothing."

"That's not so. You are welcome to join my omada." Solen smiled warmly. "We need your skills, Ronon. And I've missed you—there's no one can match me in drinks."

Ronon just stared and stuttered by rote over the formal words of thanks. He would consider the offer later when he wasn't reeling.

"Go. Take the...Lanteens, you said? To the Ring." Torrel stood, and Reki hastily joined him.

"The Lanteans."

"Tell them to contact us in a few days. Then begin your new position as Liaison."

Ronon stood and saluted, the ice in his throat holding him silent as he followed Solen from the room.

:::

Both Teyla and Sheppard jumped to their feet, taking a battle-ready stance as the door swung open.

"You guys good?" Ronon asked.

"Well, we're getting a little tired of the view, but yeah."

"We are fine, Ronon," Teyla said, nudging Sheppard. 

Sheppard frowned. "Are _you_ okay?" 

Ronon's heart warmed a little. "Yeah. They were just being careful. But now is not a good time for treaty arrangements. I'm taking you back to the Ring."

"All right." Both Sheppard and Teyla seemed relieved. They looked warily at Solen, who backed away from the heavy door to let them through.

"Sure you're going to be okay? You can come back with us, you know," Sheppard said under his breath as they walked behind Teyla, Solen in the lead.

"It's fine. Solen is a friend. But a lot has changed. I'll contact you in a couple of days, all right?"

"Yeah, okay. You've got our address. We'll leave the MALP—you know, the machine by the gate—so you can talk to us."

"Good."

Sheppard bumped him with a shoulder as they walked. Ronon wasn't sure if was an accident or not.

He thought maybe not, and smiled.

:::

"It looks the same," Ronon said, disbelieving. He dropped his pack on the floor by the door and tried the lights with no luck. "How can it be?" 

It was true—except for the thick dust covering everything and the lack of power, his home was untouched, the coverings on the bed still rumpled from the hasty packing he'd done hoping to get Melena to go with Kell's staff. All for nothing. 

"There isn't a shortage of housing," Solen said gruffly. "And since your Uncle Tanai has no use for it, he left it as is. I think he was still somehow hoping—"

"Uncle Tai is alive?" This was the best news since he'd seen Satbar whole. 

"Yes! He's fine." Solen seemed glad to finally give him something to cheer about. "He'll want to see you."

Ronon glanced over at the useless comm. "Yes. Will you comm him? Tell him I'll meet him?"

"Of course. As soon as I'm home. I'll get him to turn the power on, too. Look, you rest, get cleaned up, and tonight I'll bring him to the alehouse on Barda Square."

"That's still there, too?"

Solen shrugged. "Marta is gone. Her son Elish is running it now." 

"I remember him. Scrawny. Didn't complete training."

"Everyone's scrawny next to you." Clapping Ronon's arm, Solen said, "See you tonight." He paused, then gave Ronon a rough embrace. "Don't get lost again on the way."

"I won't," Ronon said, his voice catching with gratitude.

:::

The sun filtered through his dusty windows and down onto Ronon's old dresser while he poked around his scattered belongings, his thoughts mired in his growing rage over Torrel's decision. With this forced side step into Diplomacy, Ronon would have no opportunity to join a battle omada, no possibility of regaining his rank as Specialist. He'd been put out to browsing on dry grass like an old steela.

He found himself gripping the hilt of his first short blade, clutching it so tightly his knuckles hurt. A sudden flickering of the lamp by his desk startled him; the power had returned, and with it light in his shadowed bedroom. 

It was growing late. Time to clean up and change before going to see Uncle Tanai.

The water was brownish coming out at first, but after a while it cleared, and Ronon took a long shower. He let the sprayer above soak through him and down to wash away the past seven years of pain, of fear and rage and death, until he was restored to clean skin. Only the pain from the wound on his back stayed as a reminder. 

He tugged angrily at the soaked dressing until it came loose; the blue-eyed doctor from the Lanteans would disapprove, he knew. Beckett—that was his name—had provided Ronon with replacements, but when Ronon removed the protective backing and tried to put it on, he couldn't quite reach to place it, so the bottom of his wound peeked out beneath.

Well, it was good enough. 

Next, Ronon donned the clean underclothes Teyla Emmagan had given him. He should consider them a gift from her people, she'd said. Not many were near to his size, and so the material clung distractingly, but they were comfortable, and smelled fresh. He smiled and tugged on the loose overshirt she had given him as well, then pulled on his leather pants.

His wrist guards followed—though his rank was lost, he still claimed the status. He hesitated over his kill trophies, though, wondering whether Solen would find them barbaric and strange. It was an archaic custom, one he'd resurrected from his time as a scholar in ancient history, before preparations for the war to come had dragged him away from the Academy into a life not of his choosing.

Ronon left the necklace on a table by the bed.

:::

"Ronon! It's true. By the Ancestors, I was afraid to believe it," Uncle Tai said, and pulled him into a breath-stealing embrace.

"Uncle Tai," Ronon said, and then he could say no more, just held on tight and lifted his uncle into the air in sheer joy. This, this was the homecoming he'd dreamed of.

"It is a miracle," Uncle Tai said after releasing him. His golden-brown eyes were wet with unashamed tears. "I am the luckiest man alive." He sagged down onto the bench by the table, and Ronon sat next to him, putting an arm around him. 

"I think Ronon must be the lucky one, to survive seven years of being hunted," Solen said.

"They're lucky I didn't kill more of them." 

"That's my boy!" Tai said, laughing. "We must drink. We must drink to this miracle, for my nephew has returned in victory!" 

Solen was already grabbing a pitcher and some cups from the bar. More people gathered around, some even vaguely familiar. Everyone wanted to hear stories. Ronon started to tell them, of his travels from planet to planet, never stopping, always devising clever new ways to trap and kill the Wraith that followed. His listeners cheered and jostled to be closer, and the drinks flowed freely.

A strange mixture of bitterness and pleasure settled in Ronon's gut, because he remembered those dark, lonely days when he would have given anything for the touch of a single friendly hand, for the time to stop for a meal, a drink, for the light of a warm place to sleep for the night. 

Something must have shown in his face, because when he finished telling of the ambush by the waterfall where he'd killed three Wraith with nothing more than cleverly balanced stones, his Uncle wrapped an arm around his shoulder and said, "Enough stories of death. I want to tell you of the rebuilding of Satbar, the jewel of Sateda."

Ronon lifted his cup and gratefully sat back to listen.

:::

Ronon was drunk. He'd have liked to deny it, but the truth was just walking had turned into a mystery for the Ancestors. It took Uncle Tai's strong arm to lead him home again. All the walls had turned distant, and the street soft under his feet.

"This is my door," he said with some surprise, because it was his door, and yet it was so unfamiliar. 

"Yes, it is, my boy." Uncle Tai sounded sad for some reason. "You are home."

"I'm home." Ronon greeted his saber rack with one finger, the mirror above the table, Melena's favorite tapestry that hung above her dresser. It blurred before his eyes, and he wiped his hand down his face. "It will never be the same, Uncle."

"No, it won't." Tai's hand rested on Ronon's shoulder. "But you can rebuild, just as we have. You are young."

"I don't feel young. I feel a hundred years old."

"Oh, be'a."

"I'm not a child."

Tai pushed him toward the bed. For some reason, Ronon's feet wouldn't stay under him, and he found himself collapsing onto the dusty cover. Tai coughed and yanked it out from under him.

"You will always be my little one, my Ro. Go to sleep now. Tomorrow you will have a big head. I will take you out for seesa cakes and everything will be brighter."

"If you say so, nouo."

"I do say."

:::

Ronon slept late, and golden daylight blinded him through the one broken shutter of his bedroom window. He'd never fixed it as he should.

He had no memory of the last time he'd slept until he awoke naturally. For that matter, he also couldn't remember the last time he'd awoken bigheaded from drink. 

With a groan, he rolled over and tried to push his brains back into his head. He hoped somewhere in his bathroom there was a headache remedy that would still work after all these years. 

The thought reminded him of Beckett, who had given him some pills in case his wound bothered him. Ronon had humored the man at the time, but now spared him a thought of gratitude and staggered over to his pack to find the little packets.

They were divided into twos, so Ronon took two with a handful of water and then sat on the edge of his bed and prayed to the Ancestors for his head to refrain from exploding like a Wraith grenade. 

Twenty minutes later he was roused from his reverie by a knock on the door, and he realized he felt better. He gave his temple a cautious poke before answering the door, "Yeah?"

"Still alive?"

"Barely. Come on in."

"Ready for seesa cakes?"

Ronon considered the state of his stomach. "Yeah. Okay."

Tai's face wrinkled in a disbelieving smile. "And you say you aren't young. All right, then. But first, here." He reached into his pouch and handed Ronon a handful of talets and a chit. "You need funds until Command starts paying you again." Tai cocked his head. "Or until you decide upon something else, perhaps?"

Ronon stared down at the currency and chit, a lump in his throat. "Uncle..."

"Sister-son. You are alive. That is a gift I can never repay. I never wanted you to leave the Academy in the first place—you know that. Now that I have you back, I want you to think on the opportunity the Ancestors have granted you."

"But the Wraith—"

Tai waved his hand. "We have the shield."

"Do we?" 

Frowning, Tai tugged him toward the door. "Come, seesa cakes await. And Mosha's famous balak blend of tea—your favorite."

Ronon's stomach growled in agreement.

:::

At Mosha's, Uncle Tai pressed him to return to the Academy, but subtly. He spoke of the latest discoveries made, translations of Ancestor writings, older Satedan sites that had been discovered and were being uncovered. 

"And the burial seals were completely unbroken! What a find, I tell you, Ro. We are only now getting copies of the images. But the Eighteenth Dynasty is no longer a myth."

Ronon nodded and kept stuffing his face. The tastes, so familiar, were another homecoming, as was Uncle Tai's enthusiastic narration.

"Who is the Keeper?"

Tai screwed his face up. "Old Gamai. Up to his usual clawing tricks. He sneaked it out from under the brilliant young Melit. She was behind you two years. Do you remember her?"

Ronon vaguely remembered a shy woman, thin and dark and quick-minded. She rarely spoke, but when she did, it was with cutting accuracy. All the instructors had learned to fear her questions. 

Ronon smiled. "She is a digger now?"

"And she Kept the find at the Fanow Chieftain Arcade. What a treasure of knowledge she brought to us, and generous with it." Tai nodded approvingly. 

"That was her mistake." 

"You should stop by to visit. See the exhibition." 

Ronon tilted his head. "All right, nouo. If I have time."

:::

But after breakfast, Ronon found Solen waiting at his house. 

"Your comm is still down." 

"Uncle Tanai said it'll be reconnected by this afternoon." Ronon opened the door and led the way in. "What's the rush?"

Solen looked a little surprised. "I thought you'd want to come join us right away." He gave a slight bow. "Your new omada awaits."

"Really? Because I know you'd vouch for me, but after seven years..." Ronon shrugged. Not that being a Guardian was in his plans, though it was a generous offer. 

"Ronon, Ronon..." Solen clapped his arm. "You are legend, my friend. I barely broached the topic before they were clamoring for me to snatch you up."

"But Alef Torrel wants me to be a Liaison. And truth—I want to talk to these Lanteans, if only for a while. They might be able to help us."

Solen's eyes narrowed. "Help us how?" He took a kitchen chair. Ronon went to get a glass of water, wishing he had something better to offer in hospitality. 

Setting the glass in front of Solen, Ronon sat across from him and said, "I'm not a fool. There's something wrong with the shield."

Solen's blink was enough to betray him. He took a slow drink, obviously gathering his thoughts. "Yes."

"How is it no one knows?"

Shrugging, Solen said, "They don't wish to believe. And so far, we have destroyed the few Wraith that break through when it fails. The problem is with the power crystals. They are fractured, thanks to the work of the traitors."

"Can't we find a different power source?"

"Don't you think we've tried? Nothing has been great enough to power the shield, though we've come close. But Satbar isn't a small city, if you haven't noticed." Solen kissed his fingers for luck.

"I'm telling you, these Lanteans can help. They have weapons, and power and comm devices that work without wires."

"Well, then, I guess you'd better go be Liaison for a while. But not too long," Solen added, "because we want you with us, Ronon." He held out his hand, and Ronon clasped his arm.

"Don't tell my uncle that. He wants me back with his books."

Solen laughed. "Oh, that's all we need—you stooped over a desk."

But somehow it didn't seem such a strange image. Certainly it would be no stranger than joining an omada he'd never met. 

"Remember, Torrel expects to contact you tomorrow. So you'd better get your comm up."

"I will."

"All right. See you tonight at the alehouse?"

Ronon grinned. He did have two more of those pills.

:::

At noon, Ronon came home from shopping to find his comm buzzing harshly. He rushed to pick it up, nearly dropping his bag of fresh fruit in his haste.

"Ronon Dex," he said into the dusty device.

"Ronon Dex. I called the right number then," a laughing voice said.

"Hey, Uncle."

"Come down to the Museo. We've just received a series of funerary casks."

"Sounds interesting."

"Oh, it is," his uncle said with glee.

Ronon shook his head and hung up, then went to put away his food. He couldn't use the cold case. Even though it had been empty when he'd left, it would still need a good cleaning before he could put anything in it. In the meantime, the fruit should keep in the kitchen cupboards for a few days. He stashed everything away except for half a loaf of bread and a ripe garesh, which he took with him as he headed out the door.

The Academy Museo was too far to walk to quickly, so he hailed a service car from the street and gave the address. The three-wheeled vehicle sped down the wide street while Ronon ate his fruit and bread.

When they arrived, Ronon paid the driver, wincing a little at the price. Either the war or time had increased the cost of a service ride significantly.

Uncle Tai greeted Ronon at the entrance practically vibrating with excitement. 

"Three casks! And, as I said, seals untouched. They are to be ours for two weeks before Gamai reclaims them for Palac University."

"How did you manage to get them for the Academy?"

"Oh, not me, not me, my boy. Apparently Melit's na Pharnum is Palac High Scholar! All this time and none of us had any idea. She certainly played that close."

"Huh."

The next two hours were spent crouched over the great ceramic burial casks of the Nineteenth Dynasty Chieftains. Ronon remembered this, the fascination with details, how the depth of the stroke on the diacritic indicated whether a priest or a scholar had dipped the brush; that the thickness of the gold paint determined whether the chieftain was favored in the Life After.

Ronon had spent so many hours by his nouo's side absorbing this lore, had been so excited when his sharp eyes found a clue his uncle's had missed.

Now he was just a little bored, the thought of the wizened bodies within, sucked dry as if by a Wraith, making him restless and itching for a run. It had been days since he'd moved freely and hard against a trail, a foe. 

Had he really changed so much?

It saddened him a little to think so, but these days all of that attention was dedicated to the details of a broken branch, a leaf, the sound of a boot on grass, on dirt, or the whisper of wind on leather. The sharpness of his blade.

"I have to go, Uncle. I'm meeting Solen."

"So soon?"

Ronon smiled. "It's been three hours."

"All right then. Travel safely."

Instead of taking a service car, Ronon ran all the way home. The people he passed gave him strange looks, but he ignored them, paying attention only to the surface under his boots, the wind blowing back his hair as he dodged past.

Running to, or from, it didn't matter.

:::

"And so Ronon tells the man we're only spending the night—he can have his barn back in the morning. But this is after Ronon's opened the door and let all the steela go free. You should have seen the man's face."

The eager crew around the table laughed as Solen raised his cup to Ronon and then slammed back his drink. 

"You managed to get into plenty more trouble on your own, though, eh, Ronon? How many of those begot Wraith did you kill?"

"Dunno. Stopped counting after a while."

"Ho, ho," the young semel beside Solen said disbelievingly, but Solen shut him down with a look. 

"Even before they took him, he and his squad killed a platoon of Wraith before they fell. And how many have you killed, Dirsh?"

"I've killed all the Wraith I've seen," Dirsh said sullenly.

"Then count yourself lucky. Now go—it's your turn to fill the pitcher."

Ronon hid his grimace behind his cup. This was Solen's omada? These untested youths? As Guardians of the Ring, they must have seen at least a little action since the original attack. But Ronon could see no hope for fashioning a squad out of these leavings.

"Time for me to go as well," Ronon said, using the break in talk to rise to his feet. "I'm meeting with Alef Torrel in the morning for my new assignment."

Solen looked disappointed, but could hardly ignore such an excuse. 

As Ronon walked out, he let the evening air cool the ale flush from his face. It was early yet, and he allowed his feet to carry him in the direction his heart wanted, to the place he'd been avoiding since his return.

The medical center looked much the same as it had before the attack. Ronon could see where the rebuilding had occurred, where fresh walls had been put up and charred bricks painted over, but it was well done. The sign over the door was fresh and clean.

He didn't go in. Melena wasn't there. She wasn't in their home, either, but he knew where her spirit would be, if anywhere. 

He walked the path that traveled around and behind, to the small garden where they used to meet for hasty lunches and dinners between shifts and training and drills. Stepping over the bench, he touched the tree, still somehow standing, where she'd proposed a marriage sudant, where he'd kissed her and said yes, I will kiss you a thousand kisses for yes, and she'd laughed and said there would be time for that after the ceremony.

But there was never time. 

Ronon leaned against the tree until the night grew cold.

:::

"Yes, my Alef. I will be there."

Ronon disconnected and went to shower and got dressed, hardly knowing what to think. Torrel sounded pleased with him, and enthusiastic about having Ronon come in to High Command. He'd given Ronon full rank signature in his greeting and ended the call with a respectful query after Ronon's eldest living relative.

Almost as if he were courting Ronon's interests. It was a strange turn-about after making no effort to repair Ronon's lapsed contract or rank, or remunerate him for his wrongful incarceration as a gild to his honor.

Ronon was saluted at the gate and given a guardian escort to Alef Torrel's offices, and led directly inside. Torrel rose from his desk and greeted him with an arm-clasp—again, unusual, but Ronon gave nothing away of his surprise.

"So," Torrel said after the guardian departed and they had seated themselves. "Tell me a little bit more about these friends of yours, the Lanteans."

 _Ah,_ thought Ronon. Torrel must have had his Inspector Corps do a little investigating into the dealings of the Lanteans. They had claimed to destroy hive ships—such a thing would not go unmarked-upon. 

But Sheppard had asked he not reveal just yet that the City of the Ancestors had survived. 

"They have good power sources, weapons, and remote comms that don't need wiring. They have a strong military and claim to have destroyed multiple Wraith hive ships."

Torrel leaned forward. "I have heard that as well." His eyes narrowed. "How exactly did you meet them?"

Ronon momentarily considered his reply. "One of their people, Ford, killed a Wraith that was tracking me. Later, more of their people came to the planet in search of this Ford—it turned out he was sick from a Wraith attack and missing. Their doctor removed my tracking device. In return, I offered to help them find Ford. Instead, I ended up rescuing one of their other people, a scientist, who was about to be killed."

Torrel made a pleased sound.

"Then the Wraith came in force and we all fled the planet in their ship."

"They have ships?"

"One that I saw."

"Interesting." Tapping his palm on the desk, Torrel said, "I am temporarily attaching you to the Diplomatic Corps as Liaison, as I previously suggested. This does not mean a loss of your Specialist berth, though your grade will be advanced as Liaisons are D schedule. I hope this is acceptable?"

The increase in pay was significant. Ronon nodded, still angry but keeping it from his face. This would do until he decided what he really wanted. His contract hadn't been extended, but he wouldn't point that out unless it was necessary. As long as they paid him, it suited him for now.

"Read the screener my assistant gives you. It will have all the basic rules of mediacy a Liaison requires." Torrel looked to the side. "We require a secondary power supply to supplement our shields. We will give you the specifications. We want you to spend some time with their Diplomatic Corps, get to know the Lantean scientists. You said you saved the life of one of them?"

Ronon almost smirked as he thought of it, the polite introduction as the scientist dangled from the rope. "Yes."

"That's a good start, wouldn't you say?"

"All right."

Looking pleased, Torrel dismissed him.

:::

After establishing the connection to the address Sheppard had given him, Ronon stepped back and faced the MALP machine the Lanteans had left behind. There was a glass eye and screen on it, and once the Ring stabilized, Ronon stared into it and said, "This is Liaison Ronon Dex of the Satedan Diplomatic Corps."

"Acknowledged. This is Gate Technician Chuck Campbell of the Lanteans. One moment please."

Ronon waited, itching impatiently under the high collar of the light brown Diplomatic Corps uniform. He had just spent two days in training under the sharp eyes of the Protocol master, and then a third day having his brain stuffed full of facts by Sar Sella, the scientist Keeping the shield project. Ronon wanted nothing more than to get started on his task.

"Hey, Ronon!" the machine spoke and Sheppard appeared on the screen. "Glad to hear from you."

"Colonel Sheppard. The Satedan Diplomatic Corps would like to propose initiation of formal alliance proceedings under Coalition guidelines."

"Liaison Dex, this is Dr. Elizabeth Weir, Director of the Expedition. We are happy to accept your proposal. Would you like to come through the gate?"

"Yes." Ronon felt naked going without his blaster, but then Liaisons always went alone and unarmed on first contact as a proof of sincerity. 

Still, he'd hidden a few knives about—there was sincerity, and then there was stupidity.

He stepped through.

:::

"Welcome back," Sheppard said, a grin on his face. "Whoa, nice outfit." 

Ronon scowled, but Teyla elbowed Sheppard in the side hard enough to make him shy away, and it was enough to make him grin at them both. He'd forgotten their humor and friendliness. 

"It is good to see you, Ronon. Or, I should say, Liaison Dex."

Their leader stepped forward and gave both Sheppard and Teyla quelling looks. "Yes, welcome, Liaison. We're pleased you've returned. I take it from your greeting there is a protocol we should follow?"

"That was for them," Ronon said. "I'd rather just talk plain to you guys. Also, maybe I can change out of this uniform?"

Sheppard snorted. Dr. Weir looked a little disappointed, but smiled. "All right. John, why don't you show Ronon to some guest quarters where he can change, and then meet us in the conference room. Teyla, could you arrange for some food, and grab Dr. McKay?"

"Of course."

Ronon followed Sheppard down the corridor and to what appeared to be a closet, but after they stepped in, he pressed on a map, and a flash of light filled the room. The doors opened again on an entirely different corridor, one with lighter colors.

"We just moved."

"Yep." John grinned. "The Ancients made some pretty cool stuff. That's their transporter." He led Ronon down the hall and then stopped in front of a doorway and drew his hand along a crystal, which made a chirping sound. A moment later the door opened on a room, bare but for a bed and a side table. "We'll make these yours in case you need them. You think you'll be staying overnight?"

"I don't know. Maybe." Ronon hadn't given it much thought. "I'd like to talk to your scientists about a couple of things."

"Cool." Sheppard leaned against the wall and scratched his head. "You know, I'm glad you contacted us—I was a little worried. I kept wondering if they were treating you okay over there."

"It's fine. Just different." Everything was different, but... "I found out my Uncle Tai is alive. He kept my house."

Sheppard's face brightened. "Hey, that's terrific news." 

"Yeah." Ronon fingered the strap of his pack.

"Well." Sheppard pushed away from the wall. "I'll let you change out of that shirt. It looks worse than a tie."

"What's a tie?"

"Something we wear around our necks for formal occasions. Always feels like I'm choking when I have to put one on."

"Yeah, sounds about right."

Sheppard grinned and turned to wave his hand over the crystal by the door. "Meet you outside."

:::

Teyla had found an assortment of fruit and cheese and breads. The scientist, Dr. McKay, was already seated across the table from Dr. Weir, and was eating and waving his hands when they came in, talking about something or other Ronon couldn't understand. It had something to do with power, though, which pricked Ronon's ears.

"...will triple our output," McKay finished, then stuffed a cracker in his mouth, looking smug.

"Rodney—you remember Liaison Ronon Dex?" Dr. Weir was already rising to her feet. 

Ronon gave her the formal signatory greeting, palm at his shoulder with his bow at leader-height. Dr. Weir bowed back, then Ronon took his seat first, since he was the visiting diplomat. That was about as far as he wanted to take the formalities, so he was glad to see Dr. Weir and the rest of them sitting down as soon as he was settled next to McKay.

Ronon grabbed a plate and a bunch of ripe grail. The Lanteans must have acquired them at market, which made Ronon wonder about their trading partners. Only a few planets he know of grew the sweet fruit. They were his favorite. 

"So, Liaison Dex, just so you understand—Sateda would be only the second planet approaching us for a formal alliance. And the first, well, betrayed us to invaders shortly thereafter."

"Huh. Who was that?"

Dr. Weir exchanged a glance with Colonel Sheppard, who replied, "Manara."

"Jerks," Dr. McKay muttered.

Ronon grimaced. Sateda had had their own problems with the Manarians. "They are known to bend with their own interests."

"Wish it'd been known to us."

Ronon grunted his agreement and ate a mouthful of grail. "My people value honor above all things." He saw Teyla's nod, and nodded back.

"But there can be no alliance without advantages to both sides," Dr. Weir said carefully.

Ah. Smart lady. "Yeah. Look—maybe they sent the wrong guy, because I'm not really from the Diplomatic Corps. I was a Specialist, military, before the Wraith captured me. I want to defend my people. So, the reason I'm here is because we need your help." There, he'd said it plainly. He turned his head to stare hard at Dr. McKay, who looked up from the device he was reading, as if suddenly aware he should be paying attention.

"What?"

"It's about power. We have a shield against the Wraith. But one of our crystals is fractured. We need a secondary source, and ours aren't strong enough."

McKay looked intrigued. "You have a shield? And it's powered by crystals, you say?"

"Oh, now he's listening," Sheppard said, looking amused.

"We want to ally with you, yes. But that's really why they sent me here: to talk to your scientists and see if you can solve the power problem. Because the shield fails sometimes."

"But a shield powered by crystals...crystal yield is exponentially smaller than a ZPM. If we could replicate their design, we could protect ourselves for years, comparatively-speaking..." McKay was mumbling to himself and tapping on his notation device. 

Ronon passed over the pertinent scientific data and began translating the notations. McKay looked truly animated, his eyes brightening in excitement as the implications of the shield device grew clear to him. He started ranting about ballistics and energy transformation until Sheppard chuckled and planted a calming hand on McKay's shoulder.

"All right, so? I think what Dr. McKay is saying is we're interested, Liaison Dex," Dr. Weir said, a smile on her face. "We should make it formal in writing for your superiors."

"A third party would need to act as notary."

"We generally ask Halling of the Athosians to do such things. He's their religious leader." 

Ronon nodded. Well, that had been pretty easy. He looked over at Sheppard, who was leaning back in his chair with arms crossed, a smile on his face. 

"I think this deserves a drink."

Ronon could only agree.

:::

After dialing back to Solen and letting him know the progress they'd made and that he'd be spending the night, Ronon followed Sheppard back to his quarters, where Sheppard pulled out a tall bottle of clear, vile liquid he called 'Vodka.'

The stuff was subtle and evil. It tasted of almost nothing, yet an hour later Ronon couldn't stand up, not that he needed to. Sheppard's couch was soft and comfortable and just long enough for Ronon to fit the upper half of his body; the lower half he let dangle over the arm.

Sheppard, who appeared to be only half as drunk as he was, was lying on the floor balancing something he called a "skateboard" on his feet. It was similar to the slider sticks of Ronon's youth, only it had four wheels instead of three. Ronon was itching to try it.

"Then, if you can get both feet together facing the front it's called 'hanging ten.'" 

"Hanging ten."

"For ten toes."

"Right."

"Now, let's talk flips."

"We did flips."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, where we kick the slider with one foot and it flipped in the air and we'd land on it again."

"Yeah! That's called a kickflip."

"We called it a stickflip."

"Awesome!" Sheppard grinned wide and dropped the skateboard to offer his palm for some reason. Ronon stared at it until Sheppard reached over and grabbed his wrist then slapped their hands together.

"That's a high five."

"All right." Ronon swung down so he could grab Sheppard's hand and make it into a fist. Then he made him punch Ronon's shoulder, just as he punched Sheppard's opposite shoulder, hard. "That's a bruiser."

Sheppard collapsed back onto the floor. "Sure is. I'm gonna have to remember that one."

Ronon propped his feet up again, his face feeling strange until he realized he was smiling wide. He chuckled softly and heard Sheppard's answering laugh. 

This was good, a remembered feeling, but moments later it was swept over by melancholy. He wanted to share this, all these new things, all these amazing, new memories he was creating.

"What?"

"Just thinking about someone."

"Someone who wasn't there when you got back?"

Sheppard was a smart one. "Her name was Melena. I knew she wouldn't be there. I saw her killed in the first attack. But being back without her—that part is new."

"Yeah. I know that feeling. When coming home isn't at all what it was supposed to be."

They didn't speak then, and Ronon was grateful for the silent friendship. 

After a while Sheppard dragged Ronon to his feet and pushed him toward his temporary quarters, where he dropped him on a narrow bed almost too short for him. 

"G'night, buddy."

"Hmmph."

Ronon fell asleep, once again comforted by the sound of an ocean outside his window.

:::

The chirp of the door awakened him, and he blinked open his stubborn eyes to see a glass of water and a packet of pain pills sitting on the table beside the bed.

These Lanteans were a soft people with their comforts, but he could almost approve when it came to certain things.

Ronon took the pills and waited a few minutes for his head and stomach to settle before beginning his day.

:::

"The agreement should say something about you not removing any of our technology without our express permission, and the same for us," Ronon said as an aside to Dr. Weir, not liking the greedy expression on McKay's face whenever the crystal shield device was mentioned.

"Of course," McKay said. "But should we discover how the device is made, I'd hope you wouldn't mind if we shared that design with other people?"

"Just not in any way that could get back to the Wraith," Ronon said. All of this would have to be approved by his superiors, of course, but he wanted to present them with something they would ratify with few changes. "You're assuming you can figure it out."

"Well, of course I would," McKay said, frowning. "I'm the foremost expert on Ancient technology." 

Sheppard rolled his eyes a little, but he looked indulgent, as did Teyla. Apparently this McKay was all he said he was.

"And you would provide one of these 'naquadah' generators, but we would not be allowed to reproduce its design except for our own use," Ronon said, but before he could continue, an alarm sounded, making Sheppard jump from his chair and out into the other room, closely followed by Teyla and Dr. Weir.

"...status?" Sheppard was saying as Ronon accompanied Dr. McKay into the control room.

The voice on the comm was broken by static, but clearly enough the squad on the other end was in trouble. 

"...surrounded...get back...gate...assistance....over."

"Do not copy. Repeat, do not copy, Major. Do you require assistance to get back to the gate?"

"Affirm...ive."

"Roger that." Sheppard turned toward Dr. Weir. "I'll take Teyla and two teams, AR-3 and seven. We can't take a jumper because of those pillars they have at the gate."

"All right," Weir said, giving him a nod. Ronon was amazed at the implicit trust and confidence in her easy assent. Sheppard was already on the radio and heading away from them, Teyla at his side. 

Dr. Weir turned toward him, an apologetic smile on his face. 

"I want to go with them," he said, interrupting whatever she was about to say.

"What? Oh, no, Ronon." 

"I'm good at killing Wraith."

"We don't even know that the Wraith are to blame," she said, looking bemused. "But regardless, we can't afford to let you. If something happened, your government would hold us responsible."

It was true. It hadn't even occurred to him.

Behind him, he could hear McKay arguing with Sheppard. Apparently Ronon wasn't alone in not wanting to be left behind.

"It's a military mission."

"You don't know that," McKay snapped.

"They said they were surrounded, Rodney. I don't think they meant by pretty Ancient tech." Sheppard was wearing a black battle vest and had his weapons strapped on. There were eight squad members around him, Teyla making a ninth. Sheppard turned toward the technician responsible for dialing the Ring and gave a sign. Then, oddly, he looked toward Ronon, and held up his palm. 

Remembering the night before, Ronon held up his palm in return.

Then the squads turned as a team, and were gone.

:::

It was difficult for Ronon to keep his mind on contracts and agreement language when he knew Sheppard and part of his omada—and it was clear now that Sheppard had formed an omada to protect the City of the Ancestors—were in danger.

Sheppard had shown no hesitation when learning some members of his omada could not return home; he'd simply put on his weapons and jumped through the Ring. He'd commanded two squads to join him. 

"And this, if I understand your numeration correctly, would be a conversion of the power output of one of our naquadah generators. You see it can handle the load of your shield, even without three of your crystals. This means you would be able to grow the city, um..." McKay started fiddling with more computations.

Ronon stopped him. "You're certain your conversion is right?"

McKay looked disgruntled more than offended. "Of course. When I said 'if' I was only being polite. Diplomatic," he stressed sarcastically.

Ronon grinned. "That's great."

McKay blinked. "Well, yes. So, as I was saying, cities tend to grow, of course—"

They were interrupted by the klaxon once again, and this time Ronon was the first one into the control room. He heard the firing of weapons over the radio, and Sheppard's voice, yelling, "...coming in hot! Repeat, coming in hot. Lower the shield!"

It was then Ronon noticed the film of white over the Ring, a barrier which melted before his eyes. He was making a mental note to ask McKay about it later, when the sizzle of a Wraith stunner burned through the blue, followed by a body in black that rolled inside to lie on the floor. A soldier rushed forward to pull his comrade out of the way.

Ronon started down the stairs, already reaching into his boot to pull the long blade he kept hidden there, because where there were stunners, there were—

A Wraith drone plunged through the Ring and grabbed the soldier that was just rising from aiding his friend. Still halfway down the stairs, Ronon took one step and leaped, arms high, and plunged the blade of his knife through the Wraith's skull.

Ronon collapsed in a tangle with the Wraith and the wide-eyed soldier, who stared at Ronon over the body of the Wraith. The Wraith's right hand was resting on the soldier's chest.

"Th-thanks," the soldier said, and struggled to his feet.

"Welcome," Ronon said, and retrieved his knife. "Fall back," he advised as more black-clad bodies retreated through the Ring. Ronon dragged the Wraith out of the way to make room, dodging a stunner bolt as he did so. 

This was the fight. This was what he desired, his blood beating hard. Fighting Wraith, saving his friends, killing the monsters that had destroyed his life. 

He turned back to the Ring, heart in his throat.

Ronon counted nine, ten, eleven of the soldiers returning, then Teyla stumbled through helping a short, blue-eyed man Ronon remembered from the planet where they'd first met. There was a pause, then Sheppard came stumbling through backward, big gun firing, mouth in a snarl as stunner bolts flew around him. He was dragging one leg, and he tripped on someone's discarded gear and went down just as he cleared the blue of the field.

Ronon rushed forward to shield him from any Wraith sneaking through.

"That's it! Raise the shield," Sheppard yelled, and the white film covered the Ring. Not a moment later there was a loud snap and pop as if something had struck the film hard, and Sheppard grimaced up at Ronon. 

"Wraith zapper," Sheppard said with quiet satisfaction.

"They can't get through." The realization was chilling. Ronon had never heard of such a thing. Any traveller through the Ring should have an expectation of walking out the other side. To think they might not...and yet, to have such assurance of protection was amazing.

There were a few more snaps, and then the Ring cleared.

Sheppard groaned as he struggled to stand up. Ronon reached down and hauled him to his feet, to Sheppard’s obvious surprise. Ronon smiled when he realized the strap on the back of Sheppard's vest made a good handle to do so.

"Hey, now," a voice said to their side, and Ronon turned to see Beckett approaching them. "He might be injured."

"I'm all right, Doc," Sheppard said. "Just cracked a rib or two." 

"And that's all right, is it?" 

Sheppard gave Ronon a private, long-suffering grin. "Look, I'll be in to see you soon, Carson. Right now I have to check on my teams."

It was further confirmation of Sheppard's omada. Because Sheppard pointed Dr. Beckett toward the blue-eyed Major Lorne while he reported to Weir, and then Sheppard checked in with his squad, sending them all to be looked at, first the others who had been trapped, followed by the two teams who had gone to rescue the first. Then Sheppard consulted with Teyla, following her to the weapons room. Ronon trailed behind, curious, since Sheppard and Teyla didn't seem to be bothered. 

They had Wraith stunners there, both the large and small variety Ronon was familiar with, as well as some others. Ronon kept by the door. 

Sheppard said something about a cut and bruise on Teyla's arm, and she countered by feigning to poke him in the ribs; merely the threat was enough to make him grimace, and she nodded in satisfaction.

"Sorry about all the excitement," Sheppard said to Ronon, but he didn't look sorry, perhaps because he sensed Ronon's satisfaction in the turn of events.

"The meeting was getting boring, anyway," Ronon said, and Sheppard laughed and punched his shoulder.

"Glad we could lighten things up."

Together they all went back to the conference room, where Weir and McKay were waiting. Ronon trailed behind a little more slowly, lost in his thoughts, an idea gathering momentum in his head.

"Thanks for rescuing AR-2, John," Weir said. "And Ronon, Staff Sergeant Willem Zufall would like to thank you for saving him from the Wraith that got through the gate."

Sheppard raised his eyebrows. "Oh, yeah?" 

Weir crossed her arms and shook her head with a smile. "Apparently, Liaison Dex dispatched it with a knife through the skull."

"Way to go, buddy." Sheppard lifted his fist, and Ronon raised his own, giving Sheppard a good return bruiser. 

"Ow," Sheppard said quietly.

McKay scowled. "Need I remind you two, we have important science waiting?"

"Right, right. Ronon? Are we good?"

"I think it's close to done." Except for one thing, one important possibility.

Weir shook her head. "The contract is complete, but you'll need to finish translating a few little changes here and there. So, if we could do a read-through?"

"Yeah, okay. And I have a suggested change." Ronon felt their eyes on him, and took a deep breath. "I've been thinking—once we've made this scientific exchange, it would benefit both our people...I think we should leave room for the possibility of future interactions, future possible exchanges. So I'd like to suggest, if this first exchange is a success, that the position of Liaison be a permanent one, and that the Satedan Liaison be assigned to Atlantis in a diplomatic position similar to that of Teyla Emmagan of the Athosians." 

Sheppard looked over at Weir, eyes suddenly big and pleading, and Ronon saw Teyla smile down at the table. 

"But didn't you just get back home again?" McKay sounded stunned. Weir just tilted her head, looking curious. 

"My people are...you have to understand the attack seven years ago was the first in two hundred years. They don't know—they don't _want_ to know what's waiting out there. They'll be happy if we fix the shield. They'll think we're safe." Ronon lowered his hands to the table. "But I've seen it, I've lived it." He stared at each of them in turn. "I need to continue to fight the Wraith with everything I am."

"I hear you, buddy." Sheppard looked at Weir. "And I know we really could use someone who understands how to fight them. Let us talk about it, all right? In the meantime, we'll finish translating this and get it back to your Command."

Ronon nodded and leaned back. He'd said what he wanted to say. 

:::

Ronon pointed to the next paragraph. "Yeah, I changed that part like you asked. And I added this clause. See, I'm sorry, but we don't sell weapons technology."

Teyla made a noise, and for some reason Sheppard was smirking at Weir. 

"Thank you, yes, Ronon. We'd like a similar clause ourselves."

"All right." Ronon added the notation to the appropriate sub-paragraph. "I think that's it then." His eyeballs felt heavy and grainy. 

"I will ask Halling to attend tomorrow morning's reading to act as notary," Teyla said. "He will charge his usual fee for such things."

"Thank you, Teyla." 

Teyla nodded at them all and left.

"Well, Ronon. It's been a pleasure working with you. I hope this first endeavor is successful so we might continue." Weir paused by the doorway. "Good night."

Ronon waved his stylus. Dr. McKay had long since left, claiming the needs of his science lab. That left Ronon and Sheppard, who had kicked his feet up on the long conference table and was fiddling with a small device.

"What's that?"

"Hmm? Oh, it's a game. Shoot guys, save the little guy from the dragon king."

"Huh." Ronon finished up the final notation and then saved his work. Tomorrow he would read his document aloud, followed by Dr. Weir reading hers, and then he, Weir and Halling would sign a paper attached to the notarized versions of the preliminary agreement. Ronon would take his copy back to Sateda and have the agreement reviewed by Torrel and the Diplomatic Council. If they agreed, they would sign their copy and return it to Weir, and the first expeditionary crew from the Lanteans would visit Sateda.

Ronon was glad this would probably be the last of such back-and-forth agreements for him. He wasn't cut out for this type of work, all the minor details, so tiny yet so important.

"You know, Elizabeth and I talked while you were checking out the view."

"Yeah?"

"She's worried you're too valuable for this Torrel guy to let you be Liaison to just us. He'll probably start sending you off to other planets after this." Sheppard looked worried.

Ronon thought about it. This agreement would possibly result in a brand-new power source of great usefulness to Sateda. It was actually of huge benefit, now that Ronon thought about it. 

"You might be right. But that doesn't matter." 

"Why not?" Sheppard put down his game.

"I told you what I want."

"You want to kill the Wraith." 

"Yeah. Like you said: you hate the Wraith. I hate the Wraith. It's something we have in common."

Sheppard smiled at the reminder. "Well, that worked out pretty well. We killed some Wraith, got the tracking device out and still made it home in time for supper."

"And McKay complained about radiation all the way back."

"Yeah." Sheppard looked away. "Anyway...what Dr. Weir and I decided was, no matter what happens on Sateda, you should know you have a place here. All right?"

The form was wrong, but Ronon understood: John wanted Ronon to join his omada.

"Thanks." Ronon cleared his throat and said formally, "I'm grateful for the welcome."

Sheppard looked startled, but after a moment he nodded and smiled, eyes warm.

"Okay then."

:::

Solen greeted him at the Ring's platform. "And?"

"They have what we need and more," Ronon said. "And are willing to trade. They are fair-minded but greedy for technology. It's an interesting combination." 

Solen fell into step beside him as they walked past the Ring Guardians and the pillars that defended the Ring from Wraith scout ships. "But you don't think they will try to steal our shield."

"No, I don't think so. They'll attempt to engineer one of their own like it. They have a shield but it doesn't rely on the weapons striking it to power it. So it uses too much secondary power."

"Interesting." Solen nudged him toward the central transport hub. "I know it's late, but Torrel wants to see you right away."

"Solen..." Ronon sighed as he trudged aboard the transport.

"And then we'll go for a drink, and you'll tell me all about these people. You were gone three days!" Solen frowned while he paid the operator. "You could have come home between, you know. Tanai was after me."

"I'll comm him as soon as we get to the alehouse."

"But why did you stay?"

Ronon looked out the transport window. He could see where a storefront here and there had been bombed and then rebuilt, or where one had only been repainted, white over sear marks and ash. Satbar had moved on without him, growing over with new skin, changing. 

Ronon, too, had grown over and changed. Beckett had removed his stitches this morning and patted him on the shoulder saying, "I don't need to tell you you narrowly avoided an infection, now do I, son? You must have the constitution of a horse." Ronon had hopped off the table, giving his thanks, and Beckett had smiled, saying, "You're all done, lad." 

Not so simple a thing—for seven years Ronon had carried that piece of metal. He could feel the hollow within his skin. Could see it in the empty lot where the lunch counter used to be, the place where he'd stopped on the way to the Academy after morning drills. 

"I liked it there," he said, answering Solen. "They're good people. They have a lot to offer." He used the formal variant, and watched Solen's eyes widen.

"Well, so," Solen said a little stiffly.

"It's too hard to be here day by day," Ronon tried to explain, "seeing all the places she and I should have been together. But I'll be back and forth. You know that, brother."

"All right." Solen's voice was gruff. "You'd better be, or old Tai will have my skin."

Ronon laughed.

:::

Sar Sella was leaning so far over Torrel's shoulder Ronon thought she might fall into the Alef's lap. Ronon amused himself with the image while the two of them read the treaty.

Sella, of course, as Keeper, was much more interested in the scientific implications of the attached appendices. 

"Do you really think this generator has the capabilities they attest?" Sella asked, her brown eyes wide. 

"Dr. McKay showed me the one that powers their Ring, controlling devices and comms system. It was only so big," Ronon said, holding his hands a couple of feet apart. "Amazing. They have lots of them."

Sella nodded, her smile wide with glee. 

"That will be all for now, Keeper. I'll send this to you for review and stamp." Torrel flicked dismissively toward the door, and Sar Sella left, obviously reluctant. 

"So." Torrel focused on Ronon, who did his best not to bristle. "Tell me about this codicil, in which you attach yourself as Liaison in Residence."

Ronon took a line from the Protocol handbook and clasped his hands, his spine straight, which indicated neither petitioner nor superior. "It would put me in the best position to acquire new technologies for Sateda."

"But we have need of you elsewhere."

"Not as great as this need."

Torrel's eyes flashed. "You are not the judge of Sateda's needs."

"But I am the best judge of my own."

Now Torrel's face could be made of stone. "Does not your honor require you to put Sateda's needs above yours?"

"And I will, Alef. " Ronon's jaw hurt it was so tight. He forced himself to ease back. "I will help Sateda in the best way I can. I have seen more of the Wraith than any of our people. I understand the threat. These people, these Lanteans, they are on the battlefront. I will work with them and bring back their knowledge to Sateda."

Torrel looked conflicted. "But I really do have use for you, Ronon. Look at what you've accomplished in your first foray as Liaison." He shook his head regretfully. "No, I can't let you do this, be exclusive to them."

"You can't stop me."

"I am your Alef!" Torrel said, blinking in outrage.

"I think you'll find you didn't renew my contract when I returned. The work I did for you these past days was as paid Independent. You cast me free." Ronon threw his arm over the back of his chair. "If you want me back, you'll establish my rank as Liaison Specialist and place me with the Lanteans as I requested. Otherwise, I'll go join their omada on my own."

Torrel was speechless.

"I don't want to. I'd much rather work with Sar Sella and increase Sateda's store of knowledge and defenses. That's why I did this in the first place. But I intend to kill Wraith—as many as possible, for the glory of Sateda. Whether she'll have me or not."

Ronon waited in silence while Torrel stared at him, considering. Finally he nodded grudgingly. "For the glory of Sateda," he said, his mouth pursed.

Ronon grinned.

:::

"So, this is fun, right? Are you having fun yet?"

Ronon glared at Sheppard and went back to work on the knots binding his wrists to the pole before him. Being trussed up as an offering to the Wraith by panicked villagers had not been part of the plan. He could already imagine Uncle Tai's face when he read Ronon's report on their latest cultural contact. "Next time we bring stunners. Also, my people have stingers that fire in a widespread pattern, good for crowd control."

"Sounds cool. But I thought you didn't share weapons tech."

"They're not weapons, not really. Just crowd subduers."

"Uh-huh." Sheppard grinned at him and bent his teeth to the knots.

Three hours later, after Ronon tore his way loose, knocked out three guards, cut his team free, and they'd battled their way past a squad of Wraith, he shouted in fierce defiance as Sheppard loosed two of the "drone" weapons at the cruiser that was hovering over the surface of the planet. The drones separated, one heading toward the belly and the other toward the control center of the craft, digging furrows of fire until they met in the middle in a glorious cataclysm. The cruiser exploded in a mass of glowing fury.

Ronon grinned savagely as Sheppard hooted and clapped him on the arm. 

"Ow, my ears, do you people mind?" McKay said.

"Aw, you're harshing our buzz, Rodney."

"Yeah," Ronon said. "You're harshing our buzz."

"It was rather...inspiring," Teyla said, a smile in her voice.

McKay sniffed, intent on dialing the DHD set in the ship's control panel. "Ronon, could you input your IDC? One of the guards still has my GDO."

Ronon fumbled the small device from his inner pants pocket and pointed it at the Ring. He heard Chuck acknowledge the shield had been dropped, and then Sheppard flew their ship toward the blue of the Ring.

Sharing a grin with Teyla, Ronon wondered to himself how many Wraith they had killed today. A thousand, two thousand? How many of the villagers' lives had they saved?

He rubbed his wrists and made a note to ask Sar Sella for the scattergun design, though. It was important to have an effective means of dispersing a hostile crowd. He'd have thought the Lanteans would know that.

"Home, sweet home," Sheppard said as they pulled into the control room through the Ring that connected to their homeworld. 

Though the form of the words was different, Ronon agreed with the sentiment. 

Home was his omada. Nea na omada. 

And by protecting his omada, he would protect his home.

 

_End._


End file.
